Confused
by Dixiegirl256
Summary: He dreamed of an old man who laughed with child-like glee and a beautiful woman with olive eyes. Canon through the beginning of 4.13, A Better Human Being.


This was written for the Fringenuity #FringeIsALoveStory contest. If you haven't already, read the winning entry by OConnellAboo, Cut Him Out in Little Stars, posted here at , and all the entries at the Fringenuity web site morethanoneofeverything net

The award-winning OConnellAboo sprinkled her magic dust on this story... so any mistakes/typos are all mine. Unfortunately, Fringe isn't - still the property of Bad Robot, Fox, Warner Brothers. If I owned Fringe, we'd already be renewed!

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><p>Peter spent years putting his feelings into little boxes and stacking them neatly in the back of his mind. A grifter couldn't afford feelings, not if he wanted to last. He'd finally given up the notion that these were his people, his Walter and Olivia, his Astrid. He'd seen their doubles in the other universe; who was to say there weren't an infinite number of worlds out there, and he'd just had the misfortune to return to the wrong one. He thought he'd come to terms with all that; he no longer allowed himself to think about his days with Walter in the lab, and his nights in Olivia's arms. He tried to push his feelings into little boxes at the back of his mind, and most days he succeeded.<p>

ooo

As Peter unlocked the door and entered the darkened house, he could hear his radio playing faintly. After three years of walking through the door with Walter, he felt even more alone walking into an empty, still house, so he left a radio on to break the silence. He missed the old man puttering around the kitchen, chattering about whatever came to mind, and playing his old vinyl records.

He grabbed a beer and sat on the worn couch, closing his eyes and mentally reviewing the last few hours.

What the HELL just happened?

He could close his eyes and smell the spicy aromas of Damiano's – rosemary from the Carmelina, the basil from the Caprese salad – their favorite dishes. And underneath it all - Olivia's special scent, the one she wore just for him, when it was just the two of them.

She never wore cologne on the job; she always said it was too girly. Peter loved to bury his face in her hair – the mixture of her shampoo, her soap, and this little hint of fragrance that he could only detect when he kissed her.

(How was it possible for this Olivia to know their standing order from Damiano's when she'd already said she'd never been there?)

And then she kissed him. Her lips were as soft and warm as he remembered and for that brief moment, he thought he was home; he wanted to wrap his arms around her and lose himself in her kiss. Until he remembered where he was, who she was… This wasn't HIS Olivia and he wasn't going to make that mistake again.

When he backed away, she looked hurt, and confused. He probably looked the same way, because that's how he felt. She said "it just felt like that's what we do," and he denied his urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her until he saw HIS Olivia in her eyes.

But when he gazed at her, she was already pulling away from him. "To be honest, I'm a little embarrassed about it." Never mind that she looked just like his Olivia, regretting a moment of weakness. He wanted to beg her to try again, to remember who they were, what THEY felt like, but he also knew that look and that tone of voice; she was not going to continue this conversation, at least not tonight.

So he drove home (_back to the house_, he corrected himself mentally), his mind filled with a thousand explanations for what had transpired in the last few days.

Even after his second beer, he'd come to no conclusions. Walter had definitely thawed towards him; even the shadow that fell across his face when Peter talked about going home reminded him of HIS Walter's visage when they'd talked about Peter and The Machine… Seemed like only a week ago that this Walter was snapping at him, relegating him to sharpening scalpels; now they were partners in the field, bouncing theories off each other… just like they used to.

He wondered if Walter would consider leaving the lab and moving there. He could get used to it while Peter was still there, and when he left…. Peter shook his head. _It's not my decision, this Walter can't be my responsibility_. _Put it back in the box. _

Yet he was starting to see changes in this Walter. He'd even told Olivia "He's a lot like my Walter, this one."

And Olivia… She remembered the Edina case while they were in Westfield. That WASN'T in his debrief, at least not in much detail. HE certainly remembered it, though; it was the first time he'd killed a man since he'd been a 'civilian consultant' to the FBI. It was definitely self defense, but he'd forgotten how it felt. Olivia hadn't forgotten – she'd reached out to him, talked to him about her first time, about not sleeping afterwards. They'd stood on the wooded road leading to Edina, their shadows stretched out before them, and Peter remembered the feeling he had looking at those shadows… the feeling that he wasn't alone anymore.

Tonight, at her apartment – she was wearing that soft black sweater that he loved to slip his hands under. And her hair was in a messy bun – he'd always pull the band from her hair after they ate and run his fingers through it as they watched their cheesy sci-fi movies on her couch. He loved her so much like this – soft, fragrant, snuggled up to him.

His feelings were drifting out of their boxes, like fog drifting across a field at dusk. He wanted his family back, the people that he loved and who loved him. He wanted to wake up in his bedroom, with Olivia nestled against him, with Walter banging around in the kitchen, with the smell of coffee and pancakes blending with the soft scent of Olivia. He wanted to see Walter's delight at a fresh cache of Red Vines and Olivia's gentle smile as he brought her coffee. He wanted to look into their eyes and see his home.

Standing in the kitchen, he opened another beer. The box was opened wide and spilling over now. He remembered Olivia standing in front of him, looking up at him and saying "I want what you want," as she tugged him towards the stairs.

Sitting on the couch, three beers later, he was still confused. He needed to keep his feelings for HIS people safely tucked away. But the differences between THESE people and HIS people were blurring more every day. He had to get home, before his people slipped away from him altogether. Before he forgot what it was like to be loved, and he settled for whatever was happening here. Was this Walter beginning to regard him as a surrogate son – just like his Walter had been doing for so long? Was this Olivia falling for her new partner? She couldn't be remembering things that never happened to her. Could she?

Their faces swam before him. He couldn't shuffle them back into their boxes, not tonight. The hurt on Olivia's face haunted him; he couldn't bear to see ANY Olivia in pain, especially if he was the cause, even if it wasn't HIS Olivia.

ooo

He closed his eyes and dreamed. He dreamed of an old man who laughed with child-like glee, who cooked for him, called him "son", and looked at him with a father's affection in his eyes. He dreamed of a beautiful woman with olive eyes, whose hair fell over them like a curtain when they went to bed, making love with clasped hands and whispered words of love.


End file.
